


one will give you heaven

by wewerebornforthis



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewerebornforthis/pseuds/wewerebornforthis
Summary: Robert and Rebecca, and that night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i ship it okay

 

She was just the same as always. He loved that. She hadn't changed.

She tasted like whiskey, and he was sure he did too; between them, they'd drunk enough of it. Everything was hazy, slightly blurred, like someone had taken a paintbrush to the scene and smudged it all sideways. She wasn't, though. She was like she always was, always had been: incandescent. Even under the not-lightning, even in the shadows, all of her shone, her teeth and eyes and the tips of her long hair. She shone like - fuck. Like she was alive. Like she'd never felt like this before.

It was messy. He went everywhere, his arms and his teeth flailed, and she clasped his face and kissed him until he saw stars. Their clothes fell off smooth as butter and there they were, on a bed, in a room. It had been centuries since they had been here. It had been millennia since he had looked at her and thought,  _god._

She was there, looking up at him with those eyes, those big, round doe-eyes that burned and crackled with sparks; he'd seen that look before, from her. Seen the remnants of it across the bar almost everyday.

But now it was full. Now it was perfect.

 

"Robert," she said. It rang like a bell. "Robert."

She was naked; an angel of white amongst the bunched-up sheets. He looked at her and instantly knew it all: the freckles across her hips, the lick of them down her inner thigh, that birthmark on her left collarbone. Something inside of him twisted, the recognition, the memories.

He remembered it all. Those quick fucks here and there in pub toilets, on a desk in a locked office, or his hand moving under her skirt at a family dinner; and then, when they finally got time to themselves, those slow, burning afternoons in a proper bed, with the light filtering in through the half-drawn curtains. The way the sun rays used to dance on her, making patterns on her skin. How he'd trace them with his fingers, moving further and further down until she gasped, sunk lower into the pillow. The O of her mouth as she came. 

"Bex," he whispered back. It echoed off the walls. "Fuck, Bex."

"C'mere," she said, her hair a halo round her head. "You never used to be this slow."

He blinked at her. "Just - remembering you."

She tilted her head, like an inquisitive cat. "No need to remember, Robert. I'm right here."

"I know, I know," he nodded. His hands sat on her arms, near the curves. "I'm just thinking about us. About - all the fun we used to have."

This grin crossed her face. "Mmhmm," she said, quietly. "And now we can have more."

 

She palmed at his dick. He felt all of it, every fingerprint, sending shocks along his skin. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispered; here, with her hair a mess and her makeup smudged and a line of shapeless purple marks along her chest, she was angelic. He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes looked him up and down, and her teeth found her lower lip. "You're not too bad yourself."

 

He was so hard, it nearly hurt. It hurt him, the want for her. The way every atom in his body seemed to reach out for hers, to change places, to bond and connect. 

He kissed her, long and deep. She slid beneath him, until they were parallel on the sheets and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulled him closer in. Her neck was particular sensitive: he remembered that. He remembered the way he used to whisper things in her ear when they were alone, the way he'd press himself into her, the way she'd push back - the thrill of it all, with Chrissie and Lawrence in the other room. Their conversation would buzz in the background and Robert would tug on Rebecca's hair and say,  _I want you_ and  _we could do it right here_ and  _I'm free tonight_ and she would shudder against him.

He closed his lips on the crook of her neck and she let out a sigh. It was there, that stretch of skin, that turned her on.

His tongue worked there whilst his hand crept down her body, slow and teasing, before sneaking between her legs; she was hot, so hot, hot and wet and aching. She could have come right there and then if he'd gone too fast.

But he didn't; he knew this, knew her. His fingers worked in gentle little circles, and his teeth at her neck and she moaned, these breathy little things. He slowed a little experimentally and she buckled beneath him in protest; she thrust all of herself into his hand, desperate.

 

"Fuck me," she said. It wasn't an ask, it was an order. "Robert, fuck me. It's been too long."

So he did. 

 

 


End file.
